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8 february 2001 Submit to lid. Earn fame. Lots of fame! Fortune, well... |
cheeky monkey Before I get all cranked up here, just wanted to apologize in advance if I don't post tomorrow (Friday). Depending on (A) how hungover I am, or (B) if I can find a Kinko's with FTP access, I may have to post my adventures on Monday. I'm just not up for hauling my laptop on this trip. That said... Let's be frank. ( Note: Mom, Dad, Kelli...uh...you might want to read the news or something today. Heh, heh. Al-righty, so before I get straight to the poop, you need a little bit of history. When I was in college, I used to shoot pool. A lot. I was a manager of our student union, and the gameroom manager was a friend of mine, so that meant lots of free billiards for Kimmy! Which also meant that I hung out with a lot of guys; at my college, shooting pool wasn't exactly the swingingest pasttime for many campus women. When I wasn't playing pool, I would watch the guys and learn stuff. Gradually, however, watching the guys shoot pool became the pasttime. Kicked back in a comfy chair with some pop, I became little more than a shameless voyeur. Utterly breathless at times, I was. Come on, what choice did I have? This doesn't take a lot of imagination--big sticks, numerous balls, boys acting like...boys! Competitive, focused, and attractively aggressive concerning the goal at hand. In fact, it makes me a little faint just writing about it. Hold on a minute. [Dabbing brow.] The thing is, it's not like I ever hung out with these guys outside of the gameroom. In fact, I only spoke with a few of them on a regular basis. Aside from watching them shoot pool (grrrreow...) I didn't have much else to do with them. Ed, who really was a talented player, was about as bright as a cue chalk with everything else. Chris was an underweight drunk with skanky girlfriends. Robin (the only other woman in there regularly) wore too much makeup, had mall hair, and a skanky boyfriend. So, that's how I learned to shoot pool. Fast-forward eight or ten years to this week, when I went to our friendly neighborhood pub to watch two teams from a local pool league. Now, in the past eight or ten years, I've learned that billiards is like any other sport. All sorts play it in all kinds of places. There are oak-walled English snooker halls. There's our friendly Burke Street pub. There's my cement-walled college gameroom. Regardless of location, once the game begins, I'm sunk. Week-kneed. Utterly breathless. I like watching men silently compete with one another. I enjoy watching them crinkle their brow over a difficult shot, focus, take the shot, and react with either further brow crinklage, or by looking at their opponent with a quiet, "take that, Skippy." [Dab, dab, dab] A few years ago, a woman friend and I were discussing the things we liked to watch boys do. At the top of her list were rock guitarists, especially bass players who played low (as opposed to classical guitarists who sit all polite-like and neatly strum at the waist). Nope, she liked those tattooed hip-slinging boys. The ones who played guitar like it was a machine gun. I can't say I disagree with her. I mean, come on. Keith Richards gets chicks, and it ain't because he's pretty. I think it's too bad sometimes that women as a whole aren't more forthcoming with their turn-ons. The mouthy ones complain that they don't get enough flowers, or candy, or gooshy cards. So, many men assume that this is what we all want--moosh. Blaaaagh, I say. I think I can safely say that, generally, you can hold the porn flicks and mags for us ladies. But in a lot of cases, you can also save yourself another trip to the florist, and you better darn well just stay away from the "kitchen goods" aisle of your local Wal-Mart. Welcome to the new millennium, guys. What have you done for your sweetie's imagination lately? You want to know what a lot of us like? We like to watch you at moments you may not even know we're around. One of my girlfriends gets starry-eyed watching her guy play sax. One can't get enough Sunday football. Another melts at the sight of dudes on Harleys. Just sit me in the back corner at Breaktime Billiards, give me a beer, and be quiet. We women can be surprisingly visceral. As everyone gets all spazzy over the upcoming Valentines' Day, completely neurotic trying to figure out what she wants...wait. Take a breath, then pull her close. If you can't look her in the eye, don't. Aim your lips at her ear. Ask. Then aim your ear at her lips. Listen. We like surprises. |
